


Three Minutes

by jeejaschocolate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary loves finding ways to get the boys out of apartment so that she can have her own fun. Totally aware that John and Sherlock are screwing each other when they go out, she finds ways to amuse herself... Mary/multi, plenty of Johnlock. Set pre-S03E03</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is about Mary Morstan, a character who often gets overlooked in all of the various Sherlock Holmes canons. As of His Last Vow, there are spoilers. I think I'll leave this the way it is though, might add a bit later. 
> 
> I don’t own Sherlock (BBC)! Credit where it’s due.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Not the damn Elle jeans with the sweater again,” she muttered to herself, rummaging through her closet. “Wore that the last three times, you did...” Still, Mary put her hand on the black wool sweater hanging invitingly on its hanger. It completely enveloped her modest figure when she wore it. Something about being swallowed by comfortable, sturdy fabric appealed to her most basic instinct and she fought with herself again about wearing it.  
  
Mary Morstan (still Morstan, thank you, not yet a bonafide Watson) was getting ready. She covered all her bases: Shower done, hair quickly blown over, wearing comfortable yet reasonably sexy panties and a durable but shapely bra. She was just about ready...  
  
“Oh, hell with it.” She hurriedly decided on a red cardigan and thigh-length pencil skirt.  
  
Earlier in the evening, Mary had had no trouble sending off her betrothed and his favorite companion into the wilds of London. The three of them had been sitting around 221b, considering dinner plans. Much like Mary had done on the day they were sorting through wedding invitations, she encouraged Sherlock with a bit of side conversation. Something like, a friend of a friend was looking to find a lost husband who she believed was calling her...from beyond the grave.  
  
Sherlock was rifling through a cardboard box full of what looked like used beakers at the time she mentioned this to him. He immediately gave pause the second she said “grave.” Too close to home? Mary considered this briefly, then had her question answered when Sherlock started muttering something like, “Character impersonation, brother-in-law seeking to gain access to some information, possibly a fortune she may or may not know about, looking to impress daddy with newfound success after the death of dear older brother...”  
  
“So yes?” She asked him casually.  
  
Sherlock stood up abruptly, knocking into the box full of beakers and rattling them slightly. “Yes, naturally. Arguably a 6, by my account of things. Address?”  
  
Mary had given him the address readily, not needing to know what he meant by “6.” She smiled and patted his arm in thanks. Sherlock bristled at the contact and glanced at her in his peripheral vision.  
  
“Excellent!” she said. Then she lowered her voice, “Oh, and if you’re going out, will you bring John along? He’s been a bit...peeky today. Think you need to run him.” She winked a sparkling grey eye at him deviously.  
  
Sherlock raised his hand to his lips in a gesture that implied deep thought, but she saw him breaking into a small smile under his fingers. “Yes, yes. I’ll take the man off your hands for a bit.” He hurried away, threadbare robe snapping behind him. Suddenly, he turned back to Mary. “If I must,” he said, hoping to add reluctance to the idea. With that short, barely believably quip, he was off.  
  
John, for his part, needed no regular prompting to go out. Mary spoke with him now and then about how it was important for Sherlock to have his right-hand man, so to speak, although the phrase made her laugh. Right-hand man? Indeed. Wonder what he did with that right hand when he and Sherlock went out together... “Oh, John,” she would say, cracking one of her sideways smiles that she knew caught John off guard at the perfect times. “He needs you, of course!” Then she would touch his arm. “You’re his _doctor_...” John would swallow hard then turn away. Whenever she mentioned Sherlock to John, especially when she gave the bit about being his doctor, John’s face would become hard to read, but every so subtly more....well, alive.  
  
So, that night like any other, one quick kiss from John and the two of them were off. The apartment she shared with John turned suddenly bare and she was left to her own devices. And that was just the way she liked it.  
  
Smiling to herself, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s done,” she said aloud. Turning to her cell phone, she began to read the messages she had neglected to check in the boys’ presence. The screen read: Gina B. - “Hey lady!” scroll scroll scroll... Matthew R. - “Oh it’s you..” scroll scroll scroll... Mandy - “Kisses, love!” scroll scroll scroll...  
  
When she and John had decided to give it a go, Mary had been in the middle of two separate relationships. The first was with a beautiful woman named Vismi, a martial arts instructor from Thailand. The other was with an attractive man named Matthew, a tax lawyer from America. Matthew was dull, but had the amazing habit of taking her wherever she wanted to go, no questions asked. She loved his car, she loved having sex with him in it, and she loved the extra companionship when John wanted to work late or spend an evening by himself to brood over his lost partner (before, of course, the sudden return of said partner, which left Mary with many free nights indeed). As for Vismi, one did not simply break it off with a smoking hot Muay Thai expert. That was reason enough by itself.  
  
It was not as if Mary did not love John. Quite the opposite. She loved him in a way that caused her to question her own beliefs about love as a whole. John was like looking out at the sunset on the waterfront from the safety of an overlooking pier. He was beautiful to look at, in his own slightly forlorn and deeply effected way, and he gave her no trouble in terms of over-attachment because John was far from clingy and Mary liked that. Yet, something about John, every time she looked at him, she felt such longing for him. Mary had yet to put her finger on it, but she knew it had something to do with the way John carried himself and the way he expressed his love. Of course, these reasons had a lot to do with Sherlock as well.  
  
Mary had found John exceedingly more attractive when Sherlock came back into his life. Suddenly, where John had been calm and firmly rooted in himself, she found John becoming spontaneous, almost unpredictable in Sherlock’s presence. John even spoke louder when Sherlock was around. When she saw John lose all composure and attack Sherlock the first time he saw him after years of believing he was dead, Mary had been quite frankly alarmed, underneath her sudden fascination with this man Sherlock Holmes. Then, gloriously, she had watched John become what she believed was his true self. He became caring, always thinking of what Sherlock might need; he became insightful and clever, acutely aware of what was going on in Sherlock’s mind; and John became deliciously dangerous, ready to drop everything and grab his gun after nothing more than a text from that man who called himself a consulting detective.  
  
From all this, Mary had decided to stay together with John. Beyond that, she loved setting up ways for John and Sherlock to spend time together. John always came back in a good mood, even when he was soaking wet and bitching about how that dickhead had made him jump into the Thames at midnight for what John later found out was nothing more than an experiment. The sex she and John had after these escapades was incredible. John became renewed with vigor and his cock followed suite nicely. She did not mind the time apart either because it gave her time to pursue her other interests, namely the relationships she had with interesting souls from all walks of life.  
  
Back in her apartment, Mary smiled as she put her eyeshadow on. Tonight, it was a light grey color that glittered impressively against the soft shade of her own eyes. No lipstick, just shiny gloss that matched the color of her petite lips and brought her surprisingly wide mouth into nice contour with the rest of her face.  
  
Her phone vibrated softly from its place on the couch. She finished her make-up and went over to check it. It was from John. Surprised, she read it quickly: John - “Sherlock pissed. Husband still alive. Quite a night. You staying up?”  
  
Mary smiled and typed a short response: “Wonders never cease. Yup, going out for a bit.”  
  
To be fair, Mary never tried to hide any of her extraneous relationships. She did not exactly bring them up at dinner (“Oh, did you know I’m fucking the waitress tonight, babe?”), not a topic for most restaurant conversation. Not only that, she had no desire to bring an end to what she and John had, and she did not want to give him any obvious reasons to end it. However, whenever she went out with one of her so-called good friends, she would let John know that she was going out for the night. An actual conversation they had had about the subject went like this: Her and John were sitting at home for the night, Mary got a sudden text and declared, “Well! Looks like I’m headed out. Best not wait up, love, probably going to be an amazing time, if you know what I mean.” Then she put on some decently nice clothes (Mary was never one for extravagance, flashy clothes did not interest her, it was all about comfort and color, in that order) and got ready. John, looking slightly miffed over an open newspaper, said, “When you say amazing....” Mary gave him smile. “Oh yes,” she said. Then she turned away to finish her make-up, “Quite amazing...”  
  
That time, John had done nothing more than snort a small laugh and return to his paper.  One kiss and she was gone to have her own adventures. This was how it always was. John left with Sherlock to find the solution to some inscrutable crime out there in the streets of London and Mary, quietly confident Mary, left on her own, ready for whatever the night would bring. The three of them were kindred spirits. They just operated in separate spheres.  
  
Mary tossed her phone back on the couch and went to put on the knee-high leather boots that shaped her calves so wonderfully. Zipping up the soft leather, Mary clicked her tongue. “Hello, old girls,” she said, admiring the boots with the completed outfit in the mirror. Briefly, she thought of the person she was seeing tonight. What would they do together? Mary had a few ideas...mmm, some sultry ones, in fact...  
  
Her phone buzzed again. Mary sauntered over to the couch. This time, instead of John, it was her date for the night. Reading the message, a simple: “Headed over. - G”, Mary grabbed her coat. She wrapped herself in the soft down insides of her padded winter jacket. She thought about what John and Sherlock were up to...she expected no more texts from John for the rest of the night. That amused her. She had guessed they were fucking each other when she first met Sherlock (actually it was not so much of a guess as it was simple observation, really). Mary longed for the opportunity to catch them in the act or at least have some kind of lingering proof, but she lacked solid evidence at the moment. Oh well, they would give her plenty of chances after all.  
  
The prospect of John and Sherlock having sex together turned her on very much. She was almost embarrassed by it, but then again, they were both so attractive on their own and then the chemistry when they were together...Mary had long since abandoned any shame over the matter. Now she wanted to be the facilitator of their would-be clandestine romance. It gave her a delightful sense of happiness and warmth. Mary just wished they could stop tip-toeing around each other about all this!  
  
Her phone went off again, this time ringing in a familiar tone. Mary answered, “Hello darling!” She listened to person she would soon be fucking into unspeakable pleasure. “...I see...well, yes of course!”  
  
Her eyes lit up. “Five minutes away?” She laughed. “Be there in three and I’ll give you a special treat.” Abruptly, she hung up.  
  
“Three minutes til heaven,” she said to the lovely woman in the mirror. She kissed her reflection once and was gone. 


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mary was getting ready to go out, John and Sherlock were busy with their own...interests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnlock chapter! Woo! Changed the rating to be safe. Hope you like!

“Three minutes, Sherlock!” John was panting, barely any breath left in him, but he wanted to use what he had to yell at the bastard running alongside him. “That’s all I would have needed! Just three...bloody....minutes....”  
  
Sherlock and John were being pursued by a nasty looking Rottweiler, the handler of which was an equally nasty looking man they had, mistakenly, pissed the hell off. All of this happened after they discovered that their current client, Ms. Yesgeist, and, ironically, Sherlock were both wrong about her husband being dead.  
  
“Not dead, Sherlock! That man...back there...is most certainly not dead!” Running at full speed, John was following Sherlock almost blindly through all the backstreets they could find. He figured Sherlock probably knew where he was going, walking GPS that he was. John also did not particularly care where they were headed at the moment, as long as it got them farther from the man wielding a club.  
  
“Well how was I to know he had used an alias his entire adult life!” Sherlock finally retaliated, even though about seventy percent of his brain was focused on the route they were taking. By his calculations, he believed their estimated time of arrival at his chosen safe place was about six and a quarter minutes.  
  
“Couldn’t you deduce something from his fucking...walking stick...or something...” John was still rambling, even though his anger had mostly subsided. He just wanted to get the hell away from this guy already. The vicious-sounding barking in the distance frayed his usually steely nerves.  
  
“Walking stick? How-” Sherlock stopped suddenly and grabbed John’s arm, roughly pulling John away from the wall he was about run into headlong.  
  
John was put off-balance by the contact and fell into Sherlock. As a result, they both tumbled to the pavement, John awkwardly sprawled over Sherlock’s right side.  
  
Panting, John tried to drag himself to his feet. Sherlock’s ETA was increasing by the second. Now it was seven minutes...seven and a half...eight...eight and a half minutes...oh, sod it. “Captain of the royal army, were you?” he asked John, annoyed at having his plans go up in spoke.  
  
“Shut up,” John responded, slightly embarrassed at being so bumbling. He should really get a personal trainer...  
  
John was now standing fully upright, but still breathing heavily. He looked down at Sherlock still on the ground. Damn. Even rolling on the garbage stained cobblestone, Sherlock was still so bloody attractive...his long coat had been thrown aside to reveal his long, slender legs. Shaking his head slightly, John offered Sherlock his hand to help upright the man.  
  
Looking up at John from behind stray black locks, Sherlock accepted the hand and stood up. They exchanged looks for a moment. It seemed the mood had changed slightly, but before either of them could say anything, they heard a gravelly voice yell, “Get back here you pansies!” Their pursuer had had plenty of time to catch up while they were down.  
  
Sherlock made a split decision. The ideal safe place was out, time for a temporary substitute. Looking around frantically, he grabbed John’s arm again and started running. There had to be somewhere...  
  
“Alright, Sherlock. Where are we going?” John was tired of running in any random direction.  
  
Sherlock bit his lip before answering. How truthful should he be about this? He settled on: “...Something will turn up...bound to...”  
  
John’s stomach turned in that familiar way it did when he realized Sherlock had no idea what the hell he was doing. He groaned, but said nothing. He had learned from experience it was best to keep quiet in these situations until he had something to offer.  
  
Meanwhile, Sherlock’s eyes were scanning the scene ahead of them, making mental lists of the possibilities. It looked like: Warehouse...warehouse...abandoned apartment building...small cafe...warehouse--wait. Cafe? Why would there be a small cafe on an almost entirely abandoned side-street? Sherlock came to a skidding stop in front of what he had initially called a cafe. John knocked into him again, lacking entirely in grace this evening.  
  
The windows of the building read “Cafe Au Plait,” but the lights were off and the windows had gaping holes in them where someone had thrown what Sherlock deduced was an odd-sized vending machine through the glass. Next to the windows was a boarded up door, no use, but beside that was a door that looked slightly ajar. This must be the service door, leading to what was once probably the cafe’s back room. Perfect.  
  
Sherlock grabbed John for a third time and ran up to the service door. “Sherlock, I don’t know if this is exactly....” John trailed off when he heard that evil-sounding barking again. That was enough answer for the moment. Sherlock pulled the door open enough for him and John to fit inside. As it opened, they heard the door frame crack slightly, wood falling next to them. Ignoring the ill omen, they squeezed inside.  
  
Beyond the door, they met with complete darkness. The whole place had an understandably musty smell, but it reeked with mold and they could feel the dust on their faces and nostrils. They did not know how far back the room went, but it felt surprisingly small. In light of all this, John felt perfectly content to stay close to the threshold, so he moved to hold the door closed. Then, in the darkness, he felt Sherlock’s hands on him, pushing John's arm down again and leading him further back into the room.  
  
“Sherlock!” John whispered harshly. He saw no reason why they should be venturing further. His feet kicked against what felt like planks of wood as he was gently pulled along by his companion. The planks made a horrible scraping sound as he kicked them.  
  
“Quiet.” Sherlock’s voice was low and breathy, but not quite a whisper.  
  
John had no choice but to adjust to being guided as he was, so he concentrated on walking softly so as not to disturbed whatever broken glass or wood or whatever was on the ground. That was easy enough, but the notion the they could theoretically walk straight into an abandoned elevator shaft or something set him slightly on edge. Still, as much as John hated to admit it, this was one of the reasons why he went out with Sherlock so much. There was danger, uncertainty, and...dark, dismal warehouses, apparently. Regardless, his body tingled with excitement.  
  
Suddenly, Sherlock pulled him fiercely to the right. “Jesus!” John grumbled involuntary. He felt his body collide with a hard surface, probably a wall from the feel of it. He heard Sherlock come up beside him. John turned around to face the darkness and put his back against the wall, Sherlock next to him on his left.  
  
“Point of lowest visibility from the outside,” Sherlock explained quietly. John noted that they were awfully close, even though there was probably no reason for it, visibility-wise. He ignored that logic though. There was no way he would ever be able to deny how much he liked being close to Sherlock like this. Putting his head against the wall, John focused on breathing. He tried to ignore the fact that they were being chased, as well as the dank room they had found themselves in and the danger. Instead, he tried to focus on the smell of Sherlock standing solidly next to him. One of his favorite scents, especially now that they had been running and Sherlock smelled like his usual fresh cologne mingled with the earthier smell of a little sweat.  
  
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, mouth practically against John’s ear. John startled at the sudden intimate contact. His natural instinct in times like this was to deflect. He had no idea why. They had been lovers for a while now, years even. There was no secrecy between them. But something about him being involved with Mary, being part of an established relationship outside of Sherlock, made him want to resist when this man that he loved so completely showed him any affection.  
  
“Abandoned warehouse?” John snorted. “Not so much.”  
  
“Cafe storage room, probably,” was Sherlock’s response. He had turned his head back to the front, so his voice was farther away. A small bit of disappointment filled John, but he pushed it aside for now. Sherlock continued, “Surprising amount of _cladosporium salinae_ , however.”  
  
“You reckon?” John asked, unmoved.  
  
Sherlock went on with a sigh. “Not known to cause any allergic reactions in the bodies of those with no previous exposure to airborne spores, but the possibility does offer some interesting prospects for use in an experiment I’ve had in mind about a hypersaline crime scene...” He paused briefly. “John, do you have any vials on you?”  
  
John sighed. About to answer calmly to the negative, he suddenly stopped and held into Sherlock’s shoulder, willing him into silence. He could hear the barking coming closer.  
  
Outside, the heard the man who had been chasing them breathed heavily. His thick boots hit the pavement again and again and the Rottweiler barked almost ceaselessly beside him. “Call me a damn ghost, will you...I’ll get you for this...”  
  
Sherlock’s body was stock still and John clenched all his muscles in anticipation. Looking at it in a certain light, John saw some hilarity in their situation. He felt a smile creep to his lips so he held his breath to fight the mirth bubbling up inside him.  
  
As soon as the clomping and barking sounded like they were a safe distance away, John let out his breath and bent forward in a fit of laughter. Sherlock chuckled low in his throat. Leaning on his knees, John asked in between laughs, “Which one of us was it that gave him the bit about the ghost?”  
  
“Me, I believe,” Sherlock responded. John could practically hear the detective smiling, it caused him quite a lot of happiness.  
  
“Might have been a bit too much for the poor fellow.” John straightened up and let out another breath. “Alright, Sherlock,” he said, moving off the wall, ready to leave. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”  
  
John tried to orient himself and face the door that led them in there, when without warning Sherlock put an arm in front of him, blocking his path. John stopped. “Sherlock, what...?”  
  
Suddenly John felt Sherlock pressed against him, thin arms wrapped around his shoulders and lower back. Without giving him time to adjust, Sherlock was kissing him intensely, using his lips to silence everything that John wanted to say in protest. Sherlock’s lips, though John knew them well, were plush and he moved them against John’s mouth so passionately, it was hard to remember why he wanted to object at all.  
  
Coming up briefly for air, John moved his face slightly away from his partner’s. “Sherlock, I-” he was silenced again when Sherlock, making a sound like a small growl, attacked his mouth. This time he licked his way inside and forced their tongues together. The velvety feel of Sherlock’s tongue made John weak at the knees and Sherlock, of course, knew the effect he had on him. Through kisses, John felt Sherlock smiling.  
  
John moved his hands in between the two of them to rest against Sherlock’s chest. He slid his hand inside the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and felt the soft cotton of his dress shirt underneath. Running his hand over the smooth muscle, John let out a small moan of pleasure. Really, they had not been intimate like this in over a week, which was a long time by their standards. Even just kissing and touching was causing John so much pleasure that he felt himself growing harder by the second.  
  
Sherlock slowly brought his hand from John’s shoulder to his neck, burying his graceful fingers in the short, sandy hair of the shorter man. He knew how much John responded to such touches and decided to add a little scratching against John’s scalp. Naturally, John moaned at the touch, loudly this time, and pulled Sherlock down by his lapels. John then wrapped his arms against the small of Sherlock’s back and used his hips to push him down, forcing him into a bridal-style kiss, with Sherlock resting almost all of his weight in John’s capable arms.  
  
Sherlock realized he was losing most of his control over the situation, as was usually the case when John reached a point of arousal that drove him into his natural dominant tendencies. He was perfectly fine being kissed ferociously by the strong armed man standing over him. So he leaned back and let John move from Sherlock’s lips to his neck, planting wet, loving kisses against the sensitive skin he found there.  
  
At the front of John’s mind were the places Sherlock was the most sensitive, namely his Adam’s apple and the small hollow of his throat. John gently lapped against the delicious tasting skin at the spot where Sherlock’s neck met his chest. He had a sudden crazy desire to rip open Sherlock’s shirt with his teeth, completely disrobe the man, and take him right there on the floor.  
  
The voice at the back of his head constantly saying that this was getting too far became very loud and John had no choice but to stop for a second. Opening his eyes, he searched in the darkness for Sherlock’s face. He was only able to make out some of the few familiar features, the outline of an unruly mop of curls, a long face with hollow cheeks, and the brief outline of Sherlock’s delicate nose. When Sherlock opened his eyes at the sudden lack of contact, John saw them shine in the dimness.  
  
“You realize...” John began, voice raspy after being lost in his contact with Sherlock. He cleared his throat. “...that we are standing in the middle of a moldy storage room, breathing in dust as we speak?”  
  
Sherlock showed no signs of distress. “Problem?” he asked, confidently.  
  
Of course there was no problem. John would take him right there, anywhere, anytime. Blood pumped through his veins at the idea; it was slightly wrong and weird to be doing it here, but also so right as this had been their brief hideout. The secretive-ness of it made the act seem so much sexier.  
  
However, John was not about to admit to that, even though he knew Sherlock was perfectly well aware of the truth. So he gathered Sherlock in his arms and stood them both upright. For a brief moment their bodies were flush against each other and John felt Sherlock’s hardness against his stomach. Another surge of pleasure flooded him at the touch and he thought of the list of things he could do with that hard cock....  
  
Sherlock started groaning. John knew he was blue-balling him a little and the knowledge gave him a devilish thrill. His own needs, however, were being denied as well and that made him frustrated.  
  
Taking a step back from his lover, John started saying, “Really, Sherlock, Mary is waiting for me at home. We should start heading back...”  
  
Sherlock closed the distance between them again and rested the palm of his hand against John’s face. “Never stopped us before,” he said, referring to Mary.  
  
True, their relationship had seemed to pick right up again after Sherlock’s return. After taking a break for a few years, they had not hesitated at all to start being intimate once Sherlock came back into John’s life. Just like it was in the old days, their passion had not subsided at all. Actually, John had found that the long absence had caused him to want Sherlock an almost absurd amount. When they were together, it seemed John’s very bones resonated with excitement. He drove all of his energy into their shared experiences, especially the sex.  
  
God, the sex. Every time John reached a climax when he was with Sherlock, he felt he was giving a piece of his soul to the ridiculous man he found himself madly in love with.  
  
As for Sherlock, the detective felt almost no difference between their circumstances now and from before he had left. Admittedly, John was now a part of some sort of serious, other relationship, but the specifics of that caused him some confusion. So John was “serious” about this woman, then? He wanted to marry her. So. Well. ...what exactly did that mean? He wanted to live his life with her? Sherlock had asked John to explain his intentions for Mary a number of times and John had admitted as much. Still, it was so obvious to Sherlock that what he and John had together far surpassed John’s connection with Mary. Even if it did not, (after all, Sherlock could only be so sure of the nature of their relationship), Sherlock could tell that John loved him. He just knew. John loved him more than he had loved anything. Sherlock did not even need to deduce this, (although he could, the signs John gave off whenever Sherlock was in the room) it was just so clear. He felt confident that nothing could change this. Even if John were to marry someone else, (John and Mary made a decent enough couple he supposed, she seemed to understand John well), Sherlock assumed that he and John would just carry on as they always had, partners to the last, in every sense of the word.  
  
Truthfully, Sherlock could not imagine a world in which this was not the case.  
  
In the darkness, John laughed quietly. He leaned his face against Sherlock’s hand, reveling at the sweet touch. “That’s true, isn’t it?” John admitted. If this was happening, he wanted it to happen soon. His desire was becoming too much to ignore.  
  
Sherlock’s warm mouth enveloped his own again. Then, Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the wall. John stood by gleefully as Sherlock unzipped his jacket and ran his hands around John’s torso. Sherlock unbuttoned John’s shirt and followed his touch with his mouth, kissing delicately against John’s newly bared chest. God, John loved this so much. He would always love this, his beautiful madman giving such pleasure.  
  
Sherlock made his way down from John’s chest to his stomach, slowly to his belt. Teasing him, Sherlock licked the belt buckle a bit and took it into his mouth. John gasped, he could feel the heat of his lover’s mouth so near to his need...it drove him wild.  
  
Unbuckling the belt and tossing it aside, Sherlock unzipped John’s fly as well. This freed John’s cramped erection and he moaned at that small release. Sherlock cupped the hardness in his hand, squeezing lightly on the head. He fully opened John’s pants and pushed them down to his thighs, leaving John in only his underwear. It felt weird to be exposed like this in an abandoned shack, but John had no complaints. This was exactly what he wanted, what he had been quietly waiting for since he and Sherlock had set out for the evening.  
  
Sherlock loved teasing John, especially when he had shown resistance, so he licked John’s clothed member slowly, right at the tip. John cursed under his breath. Sherlock repeated the motion.  
  
John growled between clenched teeth. “Oh, you are going to get it later...you little tease...”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Sherlock breathed, right against John’s cock. An insatiable desire to feel John’s cock rippled through him and he wasted no time pulling down John’s underwear. Even though they were in darkness, Sherlock had practically memorized what his lover’s penis looked like. He ran a finger from the base to the tip, eliciting a sweet groan from John and helping Sherlock to envision the sight perfectly in his mind.  
  
Ready now, Sherlock wrapped his mouth around the head of John’s cock. He sucked once and heard John’s cries of enjoyment. “God, Sherlock, yes...I’ve wanted this so much...”  
  
John felt as though his legs might crumble, so he straightened his back and tried to enjoy the intense satisfaction while not losing himself completely. It was difficult.  
  
Sherlock continued to suck and then took more of John into his mouth. He had yet to perfect the art of deep-throating, but he gave it a try every time they did this. So, he swallowed John as much as he could take, rubbing his tongue against the underside and trying to moan so that John could feel the vibrations. All these sensations caused John to lose focus on everything but his dick and his knees, trying to keep it together so that he did not fall all over Sherlock while cumming too quickly.  
  
Removing John from his mouth, Sherlock took a moment to regain his composure and wrapped his hand around him instead to continue the contact. Once Sherlock felt he was ready again, he moved his hand to John’s base and licked what was left exposed. Leaving his hand there to twist back and forth, he took the rest of John into his mouth, hoping for the final stretch.  
  
As Sherlock thought, John was very near the end. He wanted to hold on as long as possible, but Sherlock’s mouth had become so skilled...he knew they did not have much time.  
  
“Get up here,” John ordered, used to giving commands.  
  
Sherlock moaned in delight, loving the way John took that tone with him. He stood up immediately, not sure what John would ask. Instead of asking, John violently opened Sherlock’s pants and pulled them down along with his underwear. Sherlock gasped, finding himself suddenly exposed and enjoying every bit of it.  
  
John pulled Sherlock close to him and grabbed his cock. Oh, how he loved the feel of it bare against his hand. Then he pushed it up against his own and encircled the both of them with his wide hand. Rubbing up and down violently, John had only one goal in mind: Get off. He hoped that Sherlock was enjoying it as much as he was.  
  
Indeed, Sherlock found he was suddenly seeing stars as John jerked them off. He loved when John was desperate like this and their whole encounter had made Sherlock unbelievably hard, it felt good to have some contact. He grabbed onto John’s shoulders, clinging to him as he endured the intense pleasure his doctor was giving him.  
  
In no time at all, John clenched his muscles one more time, finally giving in to his climax and letting himself cum all over Sherlock. Fortunately, this added some lubricant, so John continued to move his hand, even as he was soaring headlong into heavenly orgasm. Sherlock, feeling his own orgasm pending, covered John’s hand with his own, guiding him to move quickly so that he could finish. When he did, he came hard with a small cry that echoed around the walls of the room. Sherlock took his time to come down from the intense climax, but when he did he could still hear his cry echoing. This embarrassed him a little, but he could only register it slightly after what they had just done.  
  
John leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “Fuck...” he breathed. He loved when Sherlock lost control like that. He was willing to bet Sherlock was blushing a bit, but he could not confirm this. Still, John liked the thought of it and grinned against his lover’s arm. “Liked it?” he teased.  
  
“Mm,” Sherlock replied quietly, trying to retain as much of his dignity as possible.  
  
They stood like that for a moment, hands covered in cum, leaning against each other. Neither of them had any desire to break the mood. Finally, John reluctantly stood up and searched the darkness for Sherlock’s face. His eyes had adjusted somewhat, so he could see an expression of intense relief on his partner’s face. This gave him a sense of complete satisfaction, knowing that Sherlock had gotten off hard like that.  
  
“Let’s get cleaned up,” John whispered, slightly proud of himself, but trying to hide it.  
  
Sherlock produced a handkerchief that sufficed to clean most of the mess on their bodies, but whatever was on the floor would stay there, most likely indefinitely. Zippering and buttoning whatever had been undone, they got themselves ready to face the outside world. John was surprised by how much pleasure they had found in this dank little room. Still, he was more than happy with the way things had turned out.  
  
They moved towards the door and exited, looking around briefly and squinting in the light of the streetlights surrounding the street. As they started walking back in the direction of 221b, Sherlock slowly reached for John’s hand.  
  
John felt Sherlock grab his hand. Usually, they were careful about doing this in public, especially since Sherlock had been back. This time though, John did not even need to look around to know there was no one near by. So he accepted the hand with a smile and held it firmly. He appreciated moments for small, intimate contact like this.  
  
Sherlock turned to him. John thought he might say something poignant, since the mood had become quite romantic, but instead Sherlock said, “I forgot to take a sample of the mold.”  
  
John’s mind blanked for a moment as he registered what Sherlock meant. He quickly recovered though, internally groaning. “You’ll get another chance, love,” he said, trying to be encouraging.  
  
Sherlock clicked his tongue. “I highly doubt that. Not every day you come across such a concentration of c. salinae, especially in a city like this...”  
  
As Sherlock started rambling, John let his mind wander a little (after all, Sherlock was not looking for confirmation on this). He thought of Mary, of what she was doing at home...wait. Home? No. He reached into his pocket and got out his phone. Turning on the screen, he reread the text Mary had sent: “Wonders never cease. Yup, going out for a bit.”  
  
Going out. Of course. That was Mary. John wanted to smile, but something seemed to stop him. Where exactly was she going on these nightly journeys?  
  
If only she would keep a blog, John thought. He laughed once under his breath. Well, whatever she was doing, he hoped she was happy. A sliver of guilt wormed its way into John as he thought of what he and Sherlock had just done. One day he would work it up enough to just tell her the truth. But what would she say? John had no idea.  
  
A yawn escaped John unexpectedly.  
  
“Tired?” Sherlock asked.  
  
“A bit,” John answered. He could feel his body longing for a chance to lay down, it had been an interesting evening.  
  
They slowly came upon 221b. John moved to go to the door, but Sherlock stayed on the street. John turned around to look at him, confused.  
  
Sherlock was the one to speak first. “Coming up?” he asked. It took John a moment to realize what Sherlock was talking about, then it hit him. Of course. He did not live here anymore.  
  
Laughing sheepishly, John waved his hand over his face. “Ah, no, sorry. Should be getting back.”  
  
Sherlock seemed to shrink slightly but his face remained unaffected. “I see. Tomorrow, then?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Course.” John looked up at the detective. Looking deep into those green eyes, John gave Sherlock a genuine smile. Caught off guard, Sherlock broke out into a smile in response.  
  
They hardly ever dared to kiss on the street, but the moment seemed right. It was quick though, and John made sure to hurry off quickly after they were done.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary decides to up the ante for the three of them with a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I took a long time deciding which direction to take this story. I finally decided to go this route and I feel pretty happy about it!

Mary clicked her nails against the coffee table at 221b. She was alone, at present, but her nerves were far from settled. Unconsciously, Mary brought a hand up to her mouth to chew on the nail of her pointer finger. She clicked her tongue as she remembered she had just painted her damn nails. Instead of chewing, she inspected her painting job with scrutiny. The deep burgundy color had called out to her in the store when she bought the polish, but now she feared it was too garish after all. 

She sighed, looking around the apartment. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of boxes around here, all of them filled with this and that. Mary flicked her eyes over the contents of each one until she found the one filled with wedding invitations. Keeping her eyes fixed on this box, she let her body sink back the couch cushions and draped one arm over the back.

The wedding was approaching, faster than she had anticipated. Time had seemed to pass at a rapid rate as John and Sherlock galavanted around London. The ways Mary usually found to occupy herself were getting, quite frankly, dull. The people she saw, individuals who had once given her cause to cheat on various relationships, John Watson included, now failed to hold her interest for more than one or two nights each. A week had come and gone where she had been with five different people--one on each night of week--and still her heart sighed come Saturday.  

Sitting idly in Baker Street, Mary thought about all this. She ran a hand through her short hair, fluffing out the back as she scratched her scalp. “One shag too many, dear?” she asked herself, thinking of that crazy week. The thought made her laugh, of course. The truth was actually quite the opposite. It was not that she was having too much sex, it was that she was not having the kind of sex that she had really been craving. That craving, she realized, would have to be addressed. 

Feeling bereft of satisfaction, Mary had simply let go of all her ties with the people who had filled her extra time. She was not in any extraneous relationships at present. Months ago, this prospect would have left Mary in despair, but lately she found that she was less preoccupied with this and increasingly preoccupied with her soon-to-be-husband.  

After all, who could really compare to her well-built, ex-army, physician-turned-lover-turned-fiancee? Mary had always thought marriage to be a trite concept, until she realized how hot it would be to become John’s wife. She reveled, secretly of course, at becoming the woman in John’s life that he would come home to, the woman who would raise children for him (probably, if she ever worked up the nerve, that was). Being the person that truly understood John made Mary feel special, and beyond that, needed. She never would have thought it felt so good to be needed, but it just did. And she did know John. She knew him rather well, even the things that he did not know about himself and the things he wanted to hide from the world. Naturally this included his relationship with Sherlock, which had been on her mind more and more. 

Exactly what was John planning to do about his relationship with Sherlock once he and Mary were married? Mary herself had no particular desire to end the tightly bonded relationship between the two men, but she did not want things to carry on as they were. John had never come clean to Mary that he was fucking the scrawny detective, and that bothered her. What was he afraid of? Did John really think Mary would rebuff him if he told her? That idea caused Mary’s heart to twinge with a little bit of sadness because it showed that John did not know her well enough.  

So, Mary had decided. If they were going to get married, (and they were definitely, absolutely going to get married), then Mary would force John into a situation where he would have to tell the truth. Likewise, Mary would then come clean about how she had been unfaithful herself for the majority of their relationship. She could not foresee how John would handle such information, but she would make it abundantly clear how she wanted the two of them, (well, _three_ of them, really, including Sherlock), to progress.  

Time passed slowly as Mary sat the couch. She was too keyed-up to watch TV or read or anything to pass the time. All she could think about was the night ahead of her. The plan Mary had come up with to bring her desires to fruition was simple, perhaps too simple. She had not allowed for any kind of contingencies that might interfere, but Mary hoped that no such problems would arise.  

The night had started like any other. She and John were sitting in the living room of their apartment together. Mary had texted Sherlock, gently coaxing him into taking a case, this time one she had found on the internet on a forum about missing pets. Mary put her phone down after a quick: “Done. - S” from Sherlock. Not even a full minute later and John’s own phone buzzed. He stood up promptly, announcing to Mary that he would be joining his friend that evening. Mary had simply nodded and wished him good luck. They kissed and he was out by seven o’clock. Pretty good, by her standards. She did not even have to leave the couch to orchestrate her boys into motion. 

A few hours after they left, Mary had let herself into Baker Street (“Oh, Mrs. Hudson how are you! Yes, John left his coat here last week. Swear that man would leave his own mind if I didn’t remind him to take it...”) and had a short look around. She had no way of knowing if John usually came up to Sherlock’s apartment when they went out, but she suspected that they probably spent some quality time here, one way or another. Mary had hoped to find some tangible proof of their relationship, (condoms, lube, pictures--were they into that? Mary hoped so) laying around the apartment. Even though the place was messy, it was reasonably small and there were not that many rooms to search. Besides, Mary knew where to look... 

She had a brief qualm of ethics about rummaging through Sherlock’s private property, but she rationalized it by saying that this would benefit them all in the long run. Besides, how many times had Sherlock rummaged through her belongings? Actually, Mary had no proof that he had ever done that. Still, the point remained. This man messed with people for a living. For Sherlock, a quick glance at Mary meant an intimate look into her history, (well, most of it), and even at the secret nuances of her personality. A small, very quick (but thorough) sweep through his flat wouldn’t hurt him.  

Even after all that, Mary came up empty. Of course the two of them were too smart for that. In her heart, she had expected as much. She had had some hope in Sherlock’s ostensible messiness, but no dice. Still, a picture taken while they were in the throes of it would have been nice, even if it was a stretch... 

Frustrating. Well, there was always her back-up plan. Around nine o’clock, she texted John saying: “Forgot to send wedding invitations. Mind if I stop by 221b to get them?”  

John, being the dutiful man that he was, replied: “Go ahead. Mrs. H will let you up.” 

As the clock ran a little half past, Mary sent her next text: “At the flat, box heavier than I thought! Mind lending your wife a hand?”  

Abandoning her initial plan to confront them with proof, Mary had no intense wish to surprise them. The flair for the dramatic was really Sherlock’s department. Instead of an ambush, Mary wanted a chance for the three of them to talk like old friends. She decided it was better for things to go smoothly, no surprises, just a nice chat and a chance for everything to be revealed to everyone else, respectively.   

Unfortunately, the time was getting close to ten and she had gotten no response from John. At this rate, she had no idea where the two of them were or if they were even coming back to the apartment tonight. A little on edge, Mary planted herself on the couch and decided to wait and see what happened.  

Half past ten now, Mary thought she had better come up with another plan. If it was not going to be possible to see them tonight, then she might as well leave and come back another day. That idea was tedious, but not out of the question. Her nights were getting progressively more free, and besides, the wedding was still some months away. Still, she could not shake the disappointment around the edge of her thoughts.   

Mary let out one long sigh. “Damn it, John, check your damn phone once and a while...” Ah well. Another night. Next time she would come up with a better plan anyway, go in stronger. She smacked both palms against the couch cushions and made to stand. 

No sooner had she put both feet on the ground when suddenly she heard a key through the front door on Baker Street. The sound caught Mary off guard and she startled for a moment. Really, she had not heard them walking down the street? Usually, her senses were sharper than that.  

The key opened the front door and then she heard a raucous laugh, a laugh that Mary knew was decidedly John Watson’s. She sat back down on the couch with a smile. “Lucky girl,” she said to herself. Hearing two sets of feet clomp up the narrow staircase, Mary again hung her arm over the back of the couch and tried to look relaxed.  

The feet that Mary had easily deduced to be John’s and Sherlock’s seemed to falter on their trip up the stairs. She heard another sound, this one was even easier to deduce the origin. It sounded like one of them was pinning the other against the wall, she could hear shoes smacking against the plaster, and after a brief moment there was a sound that could only be kissing. Intense, lovely kissing. 

Mary laughed and leaned her head back against the cushions. “Can’t even wait to get in the door...” she mused. 

Then she heard something that she was not likely to forget any time soon. Quietly, almost inaudibly, she heard John whisper to Sherlock, “Love you.”  

Mary felt her blood run cold. So. That was how it was. Massaging the fingers of her left hand nervously, Mary willed the ice in her veins to thaw and decided to double her determination to have it out with them tonight. No reason to refrain from a little needling, though. She stood up from her spot on the couch and ran across the room to Sherlock's preferred chair.   

The two burst through the apartment door not a moment later. Mary heard their heavy breathing. John was starting a sentence with gusto, “Well, not the first bloke to come to tears about a runaway dog...” 

Mary stayed perfectly still, keeping a nonchalant expression. They would be walking into the sitting room in about three seconds...two... 

Sherlock bounded into the room first. His gaze fixed on Mary immediately, of course, but he did not have an expression of contempt on his face. Instead, he merely said, “Was hoping it would be you that got here before us and not another thirty-year-old, short-haired blonde woman wearing Claire de Lune.” He took off his coat and hung it up on its appropriate peg.  

Mary just smiled and shrugged. John was in the kitchen washing his hands so he had missed the not-so-dramatic revelation.  

Sherlock finished with the coat and turned to face the woman he had correctly deduced would be in his apartment. He fixed her with a suddenly stern but unaffected look. “You’re in my chair,” he announced. It was hard for Mary to hold back the laughter after that, but she wanted to wait until John walked in before making any noise. 

Fortunately, John decided to walk in the next moment, still wiping his hands dry on a paper towel. “What are you talking about, Sherl--” his eyes finally met Mary and he gave a start immediately.

 “Jesus!” John let this one word go involuntarily. So, Mary thought, he really had not been checking his phone. The man looked as if he suddenly saw Sherlock come back from the dead. Again. 

Regaining himself, John sighed. “Bloody hell Mary,” he breathed, tossing the paper towel in the trash bin beside him. “I thought you’d be gone by now.” 

Mary gestured to the box of invitations. “Box was too heavy,” she said finally. “You should really read your texts.”  

Sherlock huffed. “Like I’m always saying. Now Mary, you’re in. My chair.” His look was almost dark now.  

Briefly Mary thought about staying put where she was just to bother him a little more. She knew how much the sometimes childish man hated having people lay claim to his things. But no, she had a better idea.  

She stood up fluidly and walked over to John. “Hello, love,” she said to him, running her hand down his cheek. She leaned in close and gave him a deep kiss. John, for his part, was immobile. Mary knew perfectly well where his mouth had just been and she was anxious for the chance to taste the man her soon-to-be husband had been loving for so long. From their kiss, mostly what Mary tasted was John but there was definitely a slight twang to his flavor, almost like the bouquet of a muddled wine, that was discernibly Sherlock’s. 

Pulling away from him, Mary looked into John’s eyes lovingly. He swallowed and took a step back. Mary delightfully took a glance down at his groin. Half-hard already, she noticed. Probably since he walked in the door.  

John saw where she was looking and awkwardly shifted his leg to try and shield himself,  but it was obviously too late. “Er, yeah, sorry...” He shuffled past her to move towards the pile of boxes, his gait slightly off due to his current state. “Right, which one was it again?”  

Sherlock had moved easily into his seat and was looking away from them. Mary noticed that he always sort of just looked away whenever Mary and John became intimate in front of him. She longed to know how he felt about it, but Sherlock’s expressions were often unreadable to Mary. Well, she supposed, that was the case for most people. 

“Actually, John,” she started to say. Now for the awkward part. “I, well...I want to be honest with you, darling.” Mary was surprised to learn that starting this process was actually a lot weirder than she thought it would be. She gave her best shot at being sweet but sincere, “I didn’t come here tonight to get the invites.”  

John froze from where he was bent over the boxes. Sherlock’s head snapped over to Mary.  

“I...heard you two on the stairs.”  

Silence. John’s expression turned grim. “Walking up, you mean? Course you did.” 

Mary gave him a look that challenged his lame cover-up and clearly let on what she knew. “Not just that, I’m afraid.”  

For the next few seconds, all they did was stare at each other. John broke Mary’s gaze by looking down at the floor. He ran a hand over his mouth for a second, trying to find the right words. 

Sherlock got there first. “Oh.” he said, clasping his hands together. He regarded Mary with a look of smug realization. “You knew.” 

“What?” John’s response was quiet, but he sounded deadly serious. 

“She knew about us. For a long time now, it seems.” Sherlock flicked his eyes over to John and then back to Mary. “And she’s quite fine with it.”  

Mary almost broke into a sweat with relief, and yes, embarrassment, at Sherlock’s words. She had not been sure how much Sherlock would be able to deduce about the situation, considering his lack of understanding generally about emotional relationships and so forth. Yet, she had harbored a small hope that he would be the one to figure it out first and effectively break the ice. 

“What?” John repeated, louder this time. “Sherlock...are you saying...” He moved closer to the seated man, looking like he was about to shake him or silence him. 

“He’s right, John.” Mary crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve known. Ever since Sherlock came back, the two of you have been shagging all over London.” How to say this without sounding poetic? Was it even possible? “Going out on cases, sure, and also finding the time to screw each other senseless along the way.”  

John’s face was completely red, down to the root of his hair, but he kept a firm expression. 

Mary wanted him to admit it. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked. “Just say it.” 

His expression still firm, John’s strength looked like it was wavering. He had not been expecting this of course, meeting Mary, then being confronted about his other relationship, then being told that Mary knew all along. It was a lot to take in. He inhaled deeply and made to say something... 

Again, Sherlock spoke first. “How many affairs have you been having, Miss Morstan? Looks like seven...no eight!...nine lovers?” He was staring at her intensely. 

“Bugger off...” John barely managed to whisper this in complete exasperation. He held onto the arm of the couch for support. 

All trace of embarrassment had left Mary. Now she just wanted to explain. She started again, this time with a fiery passion, “It’s eight, Sherlock. I’ve been with eight people since I’ve been with John.” 

“Oh, well, nine counting John then,” Sherlock amended, tossing his head back slightly. 

Mary pushed aside the feeling that demanded to know how Sherlock knew how many people she slept with, especially considering how they had both remained in the dark for so long. 

John finally stood upright and looked at Mary sternly. “Are you saying that the two of us, about to get married, have been shagging on the side for...what, years? Years, Mary.” 

“Well, yes, but look how well we’ve gotten on,” she responded. “It’s like the three of us were meant to go through this. Like our little trial and error period...”  

Even though Mary knew she was going out on a limb, John seemed to follow. “The three of us?” he asked. 

Sherlock sniffed. “Trial and error? You’re implying that there’s an end result to all this.” 

Of course there would be an end result. If Mary had her way that end result would happen tonight. Instead of saying that, she just shrugged.  

Silence overtook them. The words for what Mary wanted were hanging in the air, but all three were waiting before giving voice to them.  

“So,” Sherlock started, standing up. He went over to John and started kissing him roughly. Breaking away with a slight gasp, he turned to Mary. “This is something you are aware of, something you have clearly considered, and, upon knowing it, you decided to remain engaged to John.” 

Mary nodded, throat suddenly gone dry. “Indeed,” she replied. 

“Well then. What would you say to John bending me over this chair right now and fucking me from behind?” 

Mary’s face broke out into a huge grin. “Tell you the truth, I want to watch.” 

Finally, the penny had sufficiently dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threesome to come in the next chapter! I wanted to break it up because this one was running a little long. Hopefully it will be up soon!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our three heroes get some action. Some things speak for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the follow-up chapter to the last one. Basically complete smut. Hope you enjoy!

As far as John was concerned, that settled it. Sure, he would have to have a serious conversation with Mary when this was all over about these people she had apparently been sleeping with for the past few years, but that was a different matter. Right now, all John could see was his beautiful, soon-to-be wife staring at him with obvious excitement in her eyes, and his sexy, long-term lover who had already stated that he wanted John to fuck him. It crossed more than a few wires in his brain knowing that both of these people wanted the same thing, but there was something primal, some deep longing in John he hadn’t ever realized was there, and it urged him to give into this. Whatever this was, and whatever it was going to be within the next hour. 

“Better not waste any time then,” John said, pulling his sweater over his head to stand naked from the waist up. He turned towards Sherlock and grabbed his chin with one hand. Before kissing him, John took a moment to look deep into his eyes. The usual smug attractiveness was there, as always, and Sherlock was also showing some kind of deep lust that John only saw occasions like the one they had been meaning to have tonight. They had been kissing and touching for the past few hours, dragging it out until they could make their way home. This time, they had gotten home horny as hell only to realize that Mary was there waiting for them. Staring hard at him now, John noticed no difference in Sherlock’s reaction, despite the fact that his fiancee was staring at them with intent. Clearly, Sherlock wanted this.  

So, John brought their mouths together with an almost bruising force, putting much of his need on display. The two of them stood like that for a while, kissing fiercely and touching each other’s bodies wherever they could lay their hands. Mary stood on, barely even blinking as she watched them go at it. Of course she had often thought about how sexy this would be, but this-- _this...._ well, this changed the game. The passion between them was so sincere and intense that Mary was getting wet just by proxy.  

John started to undress Sherlock bit by bit. First the shoes and socks, then the wonderfully bespoke dress shirt, moving on to the belt, then the pants...in record time, Sherlock stood there in only his underwear. Mary wanted to clap her hands in delight. The man was beautiful! That lean body he had hidden under clothes all this time, Mary could have figured out what he looked like underneath, but now she had proof. It was wonderful.  

For a moment, John’s hands left Sherlock’s body and moved to unzip and remove his own pants and extraneous clothing. While he was doing that, Sherlock turned to Mary and faced her. He caught her gaze and fixed his eyes on hers while he slowly lowered what little he had on. Finally he stood in front of her, naked as anything.  

“Bravo,” Mary breathed. Sherlock was definitely well-endowed. Something about that seemed to fit, she decided. By comparison, John’s naked body, which she knew well, took on a separate quality, one that defined him as decidedly John Watson. He had a uniqueness of his own, well-built and toned.  

John had seen the little show Sherlock had put on for Mary. He smirked at Mary’s comment and moved behind his lover to wrap his arms around the man’s small, almost womanly, waist. He kissed Sherlock’s neck from behind and started biting and tugging at the skin. Sherlock melted into the attention, moaning from the feel of it. They were both fully hard by now. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s length and squeezed, eliciting more sounds of pleasure from the man.  

Seeing both of them naked and enjoying each other, Mary started to feel slightly out of place. She was fully clothed, even had her coat on still, and there seemed to be no room for a third in the intimate action going on in front of her. So, she decided to make herself more comfortable. First, she took off her coat and tossed it carelessly somewhere near the kitchen, then she removed her shoes and briefly considered sauntering over to the pair of men, who were now jerking each other passionately. Something told her to wait though, just wait. She unbuttoned her blouse and let her bare stomach and bra peek through the fabric. Naturally, she didn’t expect them to notice, but it felt fun and a little bit cheeky. 

Suddenly, John tore himself away from Sherlock and rushed over to where the detective’s coat hung on its peg. Confused, Mary honestly thought the two of them had some kind of kink regarding this coat. Like, “oh fuck me while I’m wearing my detective’s coat and nothing else” kind of thing. She was definitely into that, but instead John reached into one of the inside pockets and pulled out a small bottle. Ah, lube. Well, that explained why there was none in the apartment, Sherlock carried it with him in case there was ever a need for sex in public. Mary knew there often was such a need. 

Bottle in hand, John made his way over to Sherlock once again. Eagerly, the detective turned around and placed both hands on the arm of the chair. He bent forward, baring himself to his lover. John opened the cap and made to spread some of the liquid on his fingers, but Mary stopped him.  

“Actually, I’ll do that, John,” she said.  

Both men turned to stare at her in surprise. John raised his eyebrows and looked down at Sherlock’s vulnerable body. Although the sight called to him, the idea of Mary fingering Sherlock turned him on shamelessly. With a grin, he tossed the bottle over to Mary and moved to the side. 

Mary caught the bottle in both hands and ran over to stand behind Sherlock. The detective started muttering something in protest. Sounded like, “Wait, John, I’m not sure about...” 

Leaning into his ear, Mary silenced him with a quick kiss to the side of his head. “Don’t worry love,” she said reassuringly. “It’s only me.” As much to indulge herself as to comfort him, she rubbed circles into his shoulder and ran her hand down his spine. Sherlock’s body relaxed a little, so she ghosted her fingertips across his lower back, teasing him. Then, in contrast, she cupped his ass and squeezed hard. Sherlock gasped, unprepared for the strength behind her touch. 

“Go on then,” he said quietly.  

Needing no more than that, Mary opened the bottle and poured some of the lube onto her fingers. God, she had wanted to do this for so long. Using one hand to spread him, Mary carefully traced his entrance with one slick finger. Sherlock shivered at the contact. Mary knew fully well that she had her finger on one of the most sensitive parts of his body. The power in that gave her such a thrill. 

Slowly, almost delicately, Mary pushed into him, reveling slightly at the warmth she felt. Sherlock tensed up, probably in discomfort, so Mary stopped pushing any further and instead twisted her finger to help prepare him and also, she hoped, give him some pleasure. Honestly, Mary had never let anyone venture into her backdoor, so she did not know what it felt like for Sherlock to have a finger in the ass, but she suspected it was good enough for him allow John to do it on the regular.  

Feeling less resistance, Mary pushed again, farther into him this time. She was all the way in now, so she wiggled her finger back and forth hoping to provide some stimulation. John, who was watching intently, getting harder by the second at the display, leaned close to her. He whispered, “Curl your finger upwards, like a come hither gesture. He likes that.”  

Mary smiled and did as he said. Sure enough, Sherlock moaned a little. She saw his grip on the chair tighten, knuckles turning white. Seeing this as a good sign, Mary put another finger in. She copied the movement John had taught her with both fingers and watched Sherlock’s composure dissolve. He started pushing back against her hand, clearly eager for friction. So, Mary started pulling her fingers backwards and forwards slowly, enjoying the signs of pleasure coming from the man she had so much respect for. She sped up the motion. Now, she was fucking him entirely with her fingers.  

If Sherlock was being honest, he could have definitely come from that contact. Mary’s hand was small but succinct, and she moved with surprising intuition. He almost wanted to just give in and get himself off right there, but then John cut it short by saying, “I think you’re ready now, Sherlock.”  

Mary pulled out of him completely and stood aside. Instead of moving directly to Sherlock, John stared at Mary intensely, as if seeing her for the first time. Smiling, he started kissing her lips and removed the unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders. Words could not express how glad he was that things had turned out this way. He wanted to fuck Sherlock so much, they had drawn it out long enough, but he wanted Mary to have her fun as well. He moved his head down to her torso and kissed her breasts through the bra that he neglected to remove. Then he continued downward to plant kisses on her stomach. John removed her pants as he went so she would stand in only her bra and panties. As he took her pants off, he couldn’t help but notice that she was wet enough to start soaking through the fabric of her panties. John found that very satisfying.  

Once he was finished, John straightened out and met Mary’s gaze. She was ready for anything at this point. He whispered some directions to her. Mary giggled and went to sit on the seat of the chair that Sherlock was still bent over. John took his place behind his lover and positioned his cock at the detective’s entrance. He looked at Mary one more time and she smiled assuringly. The look she had in her eyes was one that he would remember for a long time. She looked both excited and in love with him, with Sherlock as well, probably. It was amazing and it turned him on in that moment.  

Without any more delay, John pushed himself into Sherlock and enjoyed the warm tightness that greeted him. He knew this feeling well but he would never get tired of it. That glorious feeling of Sherlock’s most intimate place wrapped entirely around his cock...it meant so much to him. For his part, Sherlock was glad that John had finally gotten on with it and he leaned forward to give the man a better angle.  

As he leaned, his face made contact with hands, and Sherlock remembered that Mary was sitting there. She had both her hands on either side of his face and suddenly started kissing him on the mouth, almost ferociously. Giving no warning, she dragged his tongue out of his mouth with her teeth and sucked on the wet organ fiercely. John had never done this with him, sucked on his tongue like it was a cock, and Sherlock had no choice to but to respond the way his body told him to. He leaned into Mary’s strange kiss and gave her more access.  

The sensation of being fucked by John from behind and kissed by Mary in front of him, it was almost too much for Sherlock. He wasn’t used to so much attention and he couldn’t believe how arousing it was. His own erection strained, begging to be touched, and Sherlock moved one hand to grab himself without thinking.  

Mary sensed what Sherlock was doing and stopped kissing him for a moment. She looked down and saw him pumping himself, clearly desperate for release. Behind him, John had his eyes closed, lost in the sensations he was experiencing through their contact. He was moving in and out of Sherlock at a rapid pace. They both probably wouldn’t last long at this rate.  

Can’t have that, Mary decided, and so she shoved Sherlock’s hand away. Sherlock groaned at the loss, his eyes flung open. Mary simply replaced his hand with her own, stroking him up and down slowly. She wanted him to come and she wanted him to enjoy the hell out of it, just not so fast. Sherlock shivered and groaned again at the feel of her hand on him. His body wanted him to cry out and beg for more, he was just so damn close, but Sherlock wouldn’t let himself. So, he bit his lip against the words that almost escaped him and tried to focus.  

Mary saw that Sherlock was struggling. She wanted to move down and start sucking him and using her mouth to torture him, but their angle, sadly, wasn’t right for it. So, she contented herself with what she could do. She made her touch lighter, and then grabbed the head of his erection firmly. Giving him soft squeezes, Mary took Sherlock’s now free hand and guided it to her own body. She helped his hand run across her chest and move to her breasts, where she hoped the man would know what to do. Sherlock proved promising as he independently put his hand between the fabric of her bra and her bare skin. He cupped her breast and rubbed small circles into it. Then, he surprised her by grabbing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching it.  

Mary responded by stroking Sherlock harder and murmuring, “Good boy.” His hands were deft and could prove quite useful. She pulled his hand out of her bra and guided it down her body to her soaked panties. Once more, she prayed he knew what she wanted. Again, Sherlock affirmed her respect for him by peeling back the fabric and plunging his fingers into her underwear.  

The feel of Sherlock’s hand against her wet pussy was more wonderful than Mary had imagined. The man’s skin was so soft, he felt like down feathers against her, almost like the hand of a woman but with added strength as he curled his fingers past her dripping pubic hair and against her most sensitive area. His touch was almost tickling at first, then he made her cry out as he moved his fingers against her clit and stroked.  

“Ah....yes...that’s perfect, Sherlock...” Mary soon lost herself in the feel of it. The only thing she knew to do was to keep stroking Sherlock’s hard length, faster and faster now. 

The three moved like this for only a short time before John let out a harsh groan, signifying that he was the first to come. He rocked his hips against Sherlock as he road out his orgasm, even after it was finished he continued thrusting to give Sherlock as much pleasure as he could.  

Sherlock was losing patience quickly. He needed to come. John was finished but he knew that his lover would stay inside so that Sherlock could follow him. Now he just needed Mary to give him what he needed. Again the cries bubbled up inside him, but this time he had no willpower to hold back. 

“For god’s sake, Mary, harder! Give me more, please!” The the words rushed out of him in a roar before he could stop them.  

Mary, who had gone slightly dazed in her own pleasure, heard his words and redoubled her efforts. She pumped him as hard and as fast as she could until she felt Sherlock clench his hand against her pussy. Warm liquid burst into the hand she wrapped around him. Sherlock moaned a loud, “Yes...god yes!” and was finished. 

Seeing that Mary was the only one left, John pulled out of Sherlock and moved to Mary’s side. He reached behind her and took off her bra. Sherlock, recovering from his own orgasm, had let the hand against Mary go still. Opening his eyes, the detective was met with the sight of Mary’s bare breasts. Though Sherlock had never been one to indulge in women, the sight of her naked like that was startlingly beautiful. He supposed it had something to do with how intimate they had just been. Regardless, Sherlock began stroking her again. 

As he worked, Mary closed her eyes against the sensation and let herself fully enjoy it. She was ready to come now, had been for some time, and she wanted it to happen like this. John was kissing her body again, moving up and down her neck. He grabbed both of her freed breasts and rubbed them. John had always loved how Mary’s breasts filled his hands without being too much extra flesh, they were almost a fetish for him at this point, and he wanted Mary to enjoy being touched just as much.  

Sherlock arched his fingers once more, letting his forefinger slide into her wet and open entrance while keeping his thumb against her clit. It was exactly the touch Mary needed to send her over the edge. She felt heat rising in the pit of her stomach and knew it was coming. Gritting her teeth, Mary grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and rode his hand while she came. She let out an involuntary cry between her teeth as her orgasm doubled, then she felt tears prick her eyes as she peaked a third time.  

They had all come hard, but Mary had been the last one to expect a triple orgasm. Sherlock removed his hand from Mary and straightened up. He had never felt a woman before, certainly never like that, and he brought his hand to his face to examine it. The smell was intoxicating and the warm liquid feel was...interesting.  

As Sherlock made observations, John stroked Mary’s face, hoping to put some life back into her after she had deflated from exhaustion. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. They shared a smile and John said softly, “Alright then?”  

Mary nodded, sniffing back the tears that had come from such intensity. “Better than alright,” she responded. Her mind felt a little sluggish though, so she could not quite get her head around what they had just done. What was their status now that they had just been together like that, and enjoyed it so immensely?  

“Three minutes, I understand now,” Sherlock said suddenly. The two sitting down turned to him, waiting for an explanation. Sherlock, still standing with his hand in front of his face, saw their look and said, “It takes three minutes for the average woman to achieve orgasm from manual stimulation. That solves it, John, the case from last year, remember?” 

Mary marveled at the fact that it had only taken her three minutes to get off. Seemed longer when it was happening.  

John had gone over and wrapped Sherlock in an embrace from the side. He kissed the side of his face and pushed Sherlock’s hand down, drawing the detective’s attention back to their situation. 

“Time for bed then?” John offered. Mary was more than happy to nod and stand up. All conversations could happen at a later date, as far as she was concerned. 

“But John...” Sherlock interrupted as the three walked to Sherlock’s bedroom in the back of the apartment. The other two ignored him and got into bed. Mary curled up next to John and fell asleep almost immediately. Sherlock still stood in the doorway. 

“Don’t you think there’s something the three of us should...discuss?” he asked.  

John knew he was right, of course, but the contented look on Mary’s face as she slept was enough answer for him at the moment. “We can sort it all out in the morning. Looks pretty easy to me, though.” He looked at Sherlock and grinned.  

Understanding instantly, Sherlock started thinking about what this altered status meant. Naturally, he would have to consider what three people could do together, sexually, and he started brainstorming various positions that held some merit for being intensely pleasurable... 

“Come to bed Sherlock,” John said, startling him from his thoughts. He laid down on his back, Mary wrapped in one arm and curled against his chest.  

Without any more hesitation, Sherlock shrugged, and got into bed next to John. Laying his head down on his lover’s chest, the three fell into a blissful sleep. 

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This story was really fun to write. I'm in love with this OT3 and might write some more of it in the future. Thanks for reading! Happy Sherlocking everybody!


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